


The way to a woman's heart is through her book collection

by the_crown_jules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Books, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Good Lucius Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Libraries, Light Angst, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Reading, Sassy Hermione Granger, Scotland, Some Humor, Tea, Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-10-12 22:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20572085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crown_jules/pseuds/the_crown_jules
Summary: When Hermione is rudely interrupted at a ministry function by an old enemy, she expects sparks to fly -- but not THIS kind of sparks. How dare he tease her? How dare he show up in her dreams? How dare he bribe her with first edition manuscripts and obnoxiously good ideas? And certainly, certainly, how dare he make her fall for him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury etc.
> 
> A note for readers new and old: this story is undergoing... renovations. It was my first (and last) time posting a story while it was a WIP -- caution to the wind! Who needs an outline! Well, turns out I did. At some point things went kind of off the rails and I'm keeping three chapters (subject to change) up so you can get a flavor of the story and see if these characters are for you while I iron out the bad kinks and add some good ones. Thanks for your patience during this mixed-results experiment and I hope the whole thing will be up in not too long, happy ending and all.
> 
> If you are here for the smut, I most certainly understand, and there is a future chapter of this story available as a standalone work right now, my story "Not Afraid."

Hermione lurked in a corner of the ballroom, largely concealed by a tall potted plant. She despised these stuffy ministry functions, and after two hours of toasts and smiling and accepting congratulations on her promotion and her war heroism and apparently every bloody thing she’d ever done, she just wanted to be left alone with her book. And for ten blissful minutes she had been.

“What reading could be so alluring as to keep _Junior Minister_ Granger from the adoring throngs?” drawled a familiar and unwelcome voice. Before she could answer, a large hand with heavily bejeweled fingers reached out and plucked the small book from her grasp. She huffed in protest and looked up into cool grey eyes lit with amusement. There was no trace of the derision she expected to see, but flickering behind the mirth she saw a mix of something haunted and cautious. She found herself mesmerized by the multicolored reflections from his rings scattered through the grey, and realized belatedly that it had been rather a long moment. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she cleared her throat.

“May I have my book back please, Lucius?” She tried to keep any hint of unease out of her pleasant tone.

“Now now, Miss Granger, what have we here? A children’s tale? Can’t you read without pictures?”

Her cheeks flamed with fury more than embarrassment and she stepped forward and snatched at her battered copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. Rather than relinquish his hold, Lucius covered her hand with his so they were locked in a silent tug of war mere inches from each other. Hermione found herself suddenly very aware of his physical presence, the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth and size of his hands, the faint smell of expensive hair products. Obviously this was all ridiculous.

“An old memento, but I find the stories instructive every time I read them. Perhaps you should revisit them yourself since you clearly need as many reminders of moral behavior as you can get,” she hissed.

Lucius’ low chuckle rumbled through their clasped hands and danced in the air around her as he released the book. She staggered backwards slightly but successfully avoided catastrophe with the potted plant.

“I’ll leave you to your instruction, Miss Granger. If you find yourself seeking instruction in less ‘moral behavior,’ as you say, I’ll be taking some air on the balcony.” At the shocked look on her face he laughed, his face temporarily open and unguarded. With a positively wicked wink he turned and walked away.

Hermione stared, the book drooping limply in her hand.

***

Hermione moaned as warm, soft lips moved down her neck, coaxing and teasing. A whisper of kisses and tongue brushed her collarbone before her paramour recaptured her mouth with his own. She was being consumed, drowning in sensations, the weight of his body on hers making feel both protected and thrillingly overpowered. Their kisses were unhurried and deep, a tangle of tongues as she spread her legs to tangle around his waist and reached up to tangle her hands in his hair.

A low chuckle rumbled into her mouth as his kisses paused and he dislodged her fingers from his hair to hold both her hands together above her head in a grasp made even more solid by the heavy rings on his fingers. She bucked against him, driving his hard length against her core. This time it was his turn to groan, and the hand not restraining her trailed down her body, massaging her breast and sliding lower, lower, trailing warm fingertips and cool metal…

Hermione was panting and whimpering now as he teased her, his skilled fingers playing her while the head of his thick cock teased her entrance. She was vaguely aware that she thought they had been wearing clothes a moment ago and hadn’t noticed them vanish. Wandless magic? Any awareness of anything more than her current situation vanished as she felt teeth graze her neck and bite down lightly on her shoulder.

“Please, Lucius, f…” she began, cutting off into a low cry as he eased inside her. She was tight around his girth and when he was fully sheathed they spent a few moments panting at the wonder of the feeling, foreheads pressed together, gazes darkened with lust, as she adjusted to him. When she pumped tentatively against him he growled low and began to move, slow and deep, then faster as she pushed against the restraint on her hands. Her body arched with pleasure and at her very vocal encouragement he unleashed whatever he had been holding inside and began to pound into her, releasing her hands to lift her hips and cup her ass. Her pleasure built and she scrabbled for purchase on the sheets, grasping for the headboard, anything to contain her as her orgasm crashed over, toes curling and fingers tingling and his name tearing from her lips….

…and she woke, hot and flushed and shuddering from pleasure, screaming Lucius Malfoy’s name into the dark of her quiet, fully empty bedroom. 

As her breathing quieted, she stared up at her ceiling and tried to collect her thoughts. “This is very bad,” seemed to be a recurring one. 

***

It was quiet in the Ministry on Saturday mornings, but at the end of a polished hall behind a polished door labeled “Junior Minister Hermione Granger” was a hidden hive of activity. She had been there since 6am. Sitting in the middle of a plush rug, she nursed her third coffee and surveyed the wreckage around her. There hadn’t been anything for it after the night before. Not that the night before meant a damn thing, she mentally berated herself. How one bristly interaction with an arse of a man who had always been an arse and was only STILL being an arse had led to that completely delicious and altogether upsetting dream she had no idea, but there was only one remedy: organizing. She wasn’t even sure what her plan was yet, but so far it was “take inventory of absolutely everything in this office and then let the new system emerge from the rubble.” Right now she was in the rubble stage. She sighed and cast the spell at her small side table that would summon a late breakfast from the ministry cafeteria.

She spread liberal amounts of butter and jam onto a thick piece of warm, seed-studded toast and closed her eyes for a moment to savor a blissful bite. It was probably good she was eating, her body was practically vibrating from the morning’s caffeine. As she opened her eyes, she heard the telltale woosh of a ministry memo arriving. She chewed thoughtfully as she watched the colorful piece of paper shimmy under her door and refold itself into a paper airplane before soaring over to her IN tray, which emitted a soft _ ding _ . She replaced her toast on its , unfolded herself laboriously from the floor, and retrieved the memo. She smoothed the paper flat and read a brief notice from the Department of Charitable Funds and Trusts. It notified her that the Malfoy Family Foundation had just made a considerable donation to the Muggleborn Initiation Program and that as such the head of the Foundation had been extended an invitation to Thursday’s donor appreciation tea. Hermione frowned. Since Malfoy Industries was already a major donor to the program, this could only mean that father had decided to join son. And she would have to be there, because she was the co-founder of the program. _ Maybe Lucius won’t come _ , she thought. It was very short notice, after all. She snorted. Of course he would be there. It was no coincidence that he suddenly appeared back on her radar after their back-and-forth at the gala last night. _ But why? _Hermione crumpled up the memo and began to wipe down her empty bookshelves.

***

Lucius stared blankly at the titles in front of him in _ Flourish and Blotts _ as he ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. Really, what was he doing here? He didn’t even have to go to that infernal scholarship tea. Making the donation had been a foolish impulse borne of...of what? Desire? He scoffed. More like masochism and three fingers of whiskey at 1am. Another attempt to punish himself, setting his sights on the one woman even less likely to be interested in him than his estranged wife. There was no reason to suspect Hermione felt anything other than, at _ best _, complete loathing for him. Regardless of the years between the end of the war and this moment, regardless of her friendship with his son, regardless how many nights he woke shouting with horror and remorse, regardless of how many charities he had founded or donated to in an attempt to make impossible amends, all she really knew of him was that he was someone who had put pride and preservation above everything — including, quite specifically, her own life.

Yet, since the moment he had spotted her with her face in a book at one of the most important events of the season -- utterly surprising, utterly disarming -- all he could see when he closed his eyes were wild brown curls escaping from an updo, flashing eyes, tan skin, and the look on her face when he had dared to touch her hand, dared to tease her. It hadn’t looked disgusted. It hadn’t looked full of hatred. It had looked a little flustered and he thought, though he must now be imagining it, a little curious. Regardless, these past haunted hours were the first time in years he had been haunted by anything _ good _. There was nothing for it. He had to see her again. And this time he would have a plan. He blinked and turned back to the towering bookshelves with renewed purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help putting a little Belle flavor in to their first interaction, forgive me! :) Next time... a tumultuous tea! And maybe more characters!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius shows Hermione what she's been missing: his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note for readers new and old: this story is undergoing... renovations. It was my first (and last) time posting a story while it was a WIP -- caution to the wind! Who needs an outline! Well, turns out I did. At some point things went kind of off the rails and I'm keeping three chapters (subject to change) up so you can get a flavor of the story and see if these characters are for you while I iron out the bad kinks and add some good ones. Thanks for your patience during this mixed-results experiment and I hope the whole thing will be up in not too long, happy ending and all.
> 
> If you are here for the smut, I most certainly understand, and there is a future chapter of this story available as a standalone work right now, my story "Not Afraid."
> 
> \---
> 
> Traditional wizarding tea content inspired by one of my all-time favorite stories: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221299 and my own fascination with the effects of consumed potions from my story Disdain Should Die.

Hermione was preparing to mingle. Honestly she spent so much time mingling these days that her business card should read "Professional Mingler" in addition to "Junior Minister for Magic." She smiled a little at the thought, took a deep breath, and looked over the ministry reading room one last time to make sure everything was in its place. The choice of this room for her donor tea was a bit unusual, as there were many more formal rooms in the Ministry that got heavier event traffic. But this room made her feel welcome, and if she was going to be representing a project that was so deeply personal for her (as she would be today), she wanted to stand up somewhere she felt held. One wall was filled with floor-to-ceiling windows, multi-paned with leaded glass and arched at the top, and flanked with heavy velvet curtains in a soothing sage green. And, well, of course there were the books. The other three walls were also filled floor-to-ceiling, but by recessed bookshelves holding an impressive array of heavy volumes and scrolls instead of windows. Underneath the curling scents of teas and whiffs of butter and sugar from scones and petits-fours, she could smell the blissful perfume of old paper and parchment. The room was usually full of a variety of low, battered tables and squashy chairs of the leather-and-furniture-tacks variety, but today it was magically populated with round tea tables covered in trailing white tablecloths, ringed by pretty gilded chairs, and topped with sprays of flowers. A long sideboard down the non-windowed wall boasted the sumptuous tea service, all shining silver pots, delicate sandwiches, and heavy slices of fruit-studded cake. A feeling of pride welled within her, not fully about how the event looked but more about what it represented: a core group of good people coming together for something meaningful. _Good people_. She thought of who would be coming today, and then shook off the discomfited feeling. They were still coming together for something meaningful, regardless of their motivations. Smoothing her hands down her tweed pencil skirt, she waved to her staff to open the door and allow any early arriving guests to begin to trickle in.

***

As Lucius straightened his tie, he wondered if the muggle suit had been a mistake. It was just so much more _constraining _than he was used to from his robes. And he had tried half a dozen times to tie the long tie by hand, before remembering he could use magic. The habits he'd developed during the two years he had been restricted from using a wand after the war still showed up at the most unexpected times. As he strode through the Ministry hallways, his unusual dress attracted curious looks. Or maybe it was his eternal infamy that people were wondering about. _Or maybe_, he reflected as he caught a glimpse of himself in the darkened window of someone's office door, _it's that I look bloody good. _The grey three-piece suit matched his eyes, emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and practically flaunted his ass. He stood a little straighter as he approached the registration table, thinking he had been right to take his son's clothing advice (and visit his muggle London tailor). It was an event for the Muggleborn Initiation Program, after all. Approaching the table, he smiled graciously at the young witch seated behind it, whose face flushed a little at his attention.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said nervously but professionally. "Welcome. Your, ah, your son is already here, and if you wouldn't mind taking this name pin, you'll be all checked in...and please accept this gift with our thanks."

He reached forward to take the nondescript golden pin from her hand, which bloomed at his touch into an elegant script (Mr. Lucius Malfoy, Co-Founder, Malfoy Foundation) and adhered itself magically to his lapel. It was a thoughtful and unobtrusive bit of magic, and he felt Hermione and her carefully hand-picked staff behind it. The gift, such as it was, only intensified the feeling. There was a muggle-style lapel pin with the emblem of the program, and a small, embossed, folded card that when he unfolded it became a full-size copy of the program's detailed annual report capped with a hand-written note of appreciation from Hermione. Folding it again, it became small enough to slip in to his pocket. It said so much about her, he thought, the way she used magic. The school of thought he had come up in had put magical power, which for him was considerable, towards might and showiness. She applied her, also considerable, magical power with a fascinating mixture of elegance and practicality. Her magic was a tool, not a beacon. He almost snorted at how out of his league she was, and walked into the thick of it anyway.

***

She was deep in conversation with the founder of the first London wizarding shop outside of Diagon Alley when the sight of him entering the room made her trail off in mid-sentence. Her brain did not know how to compute the vision of him in muggle clothes, not just how they _looked _on him (Godric _help her_) but what they signified. Previously, she would have said he was mocking her, but the almost determined haughtiness on his face made her think that against all odds he was actually quite serious. His cool grey eyes roamed the room, and settled on her, catching her looking at him. This made them sparkle with interest, a feeling that was echoed worryingly in her body. She inclined her head politely in his direction and hurriedly resumed her conversation, ignoring the sudden rush of warmth through her blood. _It was only a dream_, she thought. _It could have been about anyone. _Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lucius move across the room to the sideboard, and was amused to see him select the biggest slice of cake available before he joined Draco and, surprisingly, Harry in conversation. Harry greeted him politely and maybe on the verge of warmly. It looked as though there were going to be many surprises today. A light chiming sound reverberated through the air, indicating to her and others that it was time for her to make her remarks.

The friendly chatter died down as everyone took a seat, cups of tea and some annual reports in hand. Hermione stood at the front, feeling the comforting weight of the books behind her. She looked around the room at all of the people who had supported her and beamed, her nervousness floating away. Clasping her hands in genuine appreciation, she began.

"Thank you. That is what I am here today to say. Thank you, on behalf of all of the future witches and wizards like me, for seeing the bigger picture. With your support, we have already done so much and laid the foundation for so much more ahead."

"Long before I was Junior Minister, or even a student of magic, I was a muggle who was sometimes so curious that my curiosity made funny things happen. And then I got to Hogwarts, and there was a whole new world open to me to be curious about. But it was also overwhelming, and even as I tried to learn as much as I could, I was often painfully aware of how much I just didn't, _couldn't_, know, because I had _arrived_ in the wizarding world rather than being born into it. I am still learning every day." She smiled self-effacingly.

"Many of you have been supporters of this initiative since our very first year of the Hogwarts orientation program. You've seen it evolve from a one week alumni-led wizarding world 'crash course' to its current two week structure led by older Muggleborn students. This past year, we had the support and resources to open it to all first years, not just those new to the wizarding world, to foster a greater sense of camaraderie. And this year, I'm pleased to announce that thanks to a generous contribution from The Malfoy Foundation, we have already reached the fundraising milestone to support an entirely new program." She gestured at the table where Lucius and Draco sat, and everyone applauded politely. Lucius looked entirely taken aback, and she was amused at how much he had clearly made his contribution based on poor impulse control rather than a lucid analysis of their development materials. She would keep that in mind about him.

"One of the things that was most noticeable for me when I started at Hogwarts was that the curiosity I, a Muggleborn, had about the wizarding world was not really bidirectional. There was not a lot of understanding of my other world or a lot of interest in my life before. I understood why; I knew the Statute of Secrecy, and that in a very real way wizards couldn't be themselves in the muggle world in a way that felt almost frightening. But it is _most _of the world, and even as I learned about the wonders of the wizarding world I saw how we were restricted by being unable to see the wonders of the muggle world. And indifference, or casting something as 'other,' can grow into more dangerous things." Her eyes flickered briefly over Lucius' face of their own accord; his face was impassive but his shoulders were a little stiff. She soldiered on.

"This year, we will be adding a reciprocal program, ongoing throughout the year, which will have Muggleborn students of all years sharing their favorite things about their world. I, for one, always thought the Great Hall would be a good place for a good old-fashioned movie night." Light chuckles floated throughout the room.

"It's important to be me that this be different from the Muggle Studies class. The reason we moved to a student-driven program for Muggleborn initiation was the strong feedback that the personal touch, students sharing the things they care about, matters. It will matter here, too, even more."

"Our new reach goal, with your support," she continued, "is to create a structure that lets students regularly visit not just wizarding Hogsmeade but also muggle London."

She fell into the comfortable rhythm of laying out plans and projections, magically projecting her meticulously prepared visuals and dimly aware in the back of her mind of just how far she had come since the day she pushed through the wall at Platform 9 3/4. The warmth under her skin this time came from pride in her accomplishments, not from the attention of any particular audience members.

***

Everyone seemed to have very specific questions and ideas they wanted to talk through with Hermione after her presentation. Lucius watched from the sidelines as she talked animatedly with donor after donor, pausing every once in awhile to surreptitiously stuff a tiny pastry into her mouth. He wondered if she had had a chance to eat, and wondered if he should be trying to think of something clever to say or ask her, and wondered if he should actually give her the book he had bought for her, and wondered if it was absurd for him to be standing around like this just waiting for....something. She wrapped up her current conversation with a smile and a handshake, and as someone else walked up to her he saw her shoulders sag almost imperceptibly. _Ah_. This was his opportunity.

He walked smoothly over and stood at Hermione's shoulder.

"I do apologize for the interruption," he said politely. Hermione jumped slightly and turned to include him, while the man Hermione was talking to, a publisher Lucius thought, blinked at his sudden presence and petered off into silence. Lucius tended to have that effect on people. It was so helpful.

"Junior Minister Granger, if I may borrow your attention for a few minutes? I will need to depart shortly and I want to be sure to discuss some essential items first."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," she said courteously. "Herbert," she said to the other man, "I want to be sure to hear your thoughts. My office will contact you to set something up?" Her tone was kind and made it clear the offer was genuine.

"Yes, very good Hermione," he barely had time to reply before Lucius was gently steering her away by the elbow.

She opened her mouth to protest and before he could think better of it, Lucius put a tiny pastry into it. He had the good sense at least not to linger noticeably with his fingers and she just blinked at him in surprise as she shut her mouth automatically and chewed. This had the advantage of occupying her long enough for him to get a word in.

"I've noticed you popping a pastry at every opportunity," he said, his tone a mixture of teasing and sympathetic. "Have you had a chance to eat? Or even drink anything? May I stand here and appear to engage you in deep and important conversation while you freely consume tiny sandwiches and tea to your heart's content?"

This appeared to be even more surprising to her than the arrival of a pastry in her mouth, but she recovered quickly and smiled hesitantly, reaching for a plate.

"My knight in a three-piece suit," she said, loading her plate with tiny sandwiches and a slab of cake to rival the one Lucius had chosen earlier. He felt a little pleased bubble inside that she had accepted his presence.

He looked down at his attire a little self-consciously (not that this would show on his face) and spread his hands in challenge. "What do you think?" he said.

"I think it's a crime that you don't wear three piece suits all the time," she said, then blushed slightly and stuffed a bite of cake into her mouth. But the damage was done. A slow smile spread over Lucius' face as he learned that she found him attractive.

"Wait until you see me in jeans," he whispered, and she choked a little on the cake. Her eyes looked a little frantic now, so he bit back the rest of his comment (_or out of them_) and instead took the opportunity to pat her unnecessarily on the back, closing the distance between them and not stepping away when her coughing had subsided. _Easy does it_. He reached around her to fill a teacup, shoulder brushing against her arm. Any contact with her just felt electric to him, but he reminded himself that her finding him attractive was ultimately meaningless. He _was _attractive, by any objective measure. It didn't mean she liked him.

He wordlessly held out the cup of tea and she sipped gratefully and then closed her eyes and sighed a little. Lucius seized the opportunity for a completely neutral subject.

"This is a good selection of teas for an event of this nature," he said. "You were wise to have a tea expert on staff."

Hermione looked confused but intrigued. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well this one, for example," Lucius said, "the Soothing Tea. Very old recipe to use asphodel instead of valerian, and tricky to get right to create the calming effects without inducing sleep. I don't think I've had it since I was a child."

"I asked Neville Longbottom what would be traditional for a wizarding tea," she said slowly. "He sent me the recipes his Grandmother always uses, but he didn't say much about them and I made them myself — his letter said it was too close to potions for his taste." She smiled at some inside knowledge of their long friendship.

"What else can you tell me about these teas? I just followed the recipes but I thought some of them strange — the inclusion of the wormwood in the Warming Tea, for example."

Lucius warmed immediately to the subject. "Yes, you would think that it might be put more naturally in the Soothing Tea for its calming effects, but it would be a poor choice to include in an older recipe with asphodel unless you were also going to include..."

"Lemongrass," they said at the same time, and then she looked straight at him and grinned. Not a flirtatious or uncertain smile, just a genuine _grin_. He felt his face light up. He couldn't help it. He was enthralled.

"Precisely," he said around his own grin, "because it's a tea service and we have to think of taste. Terrible with wormwood. Or asphodel, honestly. So for the wormwood, we're going for the secondary use, having to do with the moon. It's an old story, actually going back to the muggle name for the plant, _Artemisia absinthium_, have you come across it before?" He had her full attention and felt eager to impress her with his knowledge, as long as she didn't feel condescended to. Being condescending was textbook Lucius, and textbook Lucius had a habit of landing him in prison.

"I haven't come across anything muggle about it, but I can't think why not, I use it all the time," she said, a small crease between her brows. He felt a crazy urge to smooth it with his thumb but resisted, aiming to smooth it instead with his words.

"Well, it's not something that _1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi _would bother with, necessarily," he said, "partly because it's a muggle tale. The Greek moon goddess Artemis was both a fierce huntress and a chaste maiden, and had a bevy of young women as her acolytes and hunting party. The story says that one of her attendants became with child against her will, and Artemis shot an arrow infused with a prayer (some historians would say this is a metaphor for a wand with a spell) into a humble plant to give her the power to ease her follower's pain. The white flowers of the plant turned to gold and she used it to bring maternal comfort. This plant, wormwood, usually used for treating inflammation, thus has a secondary use in combination with certain other ingredients, to create the feeling of being held in maternal care. Hence its inclusion in the Warming Tea."

Hermione had the most peculiar look on her face, a blazing look of mingled excitement and something almost like frustration. Over the coming weeks and months he would come to recognize it as the unintentional expression of her deepest passion: learning.

She stepped closer to him without seeming to even realize what she was doing.

"Tell me more," she said.

***

Hermione was utterly distracted. To have a Pureblood wizard explain the subtle uses of ingredients in magical teas in the context of muggle mythology was revelatory. Her recently tidy office was a mess again, because she had pulled out all of her books that she thought had been written within the last century and was absolutely engrossed in the process of scanning them for the concept of _overlap_. Everything she had been taught had been about the separateness of the wizarding and muggle worlds. History of Magic and Muggle Studies were clearly separate subjects. Even programs of her own design might be about embracing both worlds but it was based on learning and loving their differences. Now that she was thinking about it, she was sure that something huge was being overlooked and omitted. After all, there were centuries of humanity before the Statute of Secrecy came into effect. Her mind felt as if it was on the edge of something extraordinary, but the books in front of her weren't going to give it to her. She needed...

As if summoned by the power of thought, she heard a drawling voice from her office door.

"My, my," it said. "These books must have wronged you terribly."

She rocked back on her heels and blew a stray curl out of her face as she looked up at Lucius. He was lounging against the door frame in that delicious suit, legs crossed so the fabric pulled across firm thighs. As unkempt as she knew her hair looked after her literary deep dive, his long blond hair was so smooth, tied back loosely into its customary ponytail. He had his jacket draped over one arm now, and the sleeves of his button-down were rolled up revealing well-muscled forearms. His left arm was bent against the door frame where he leaned, and her eyes lingered on the faded grey of the Dark Mark there. She found it elicited nothing strong in her; it's not like she was unaware in any way of his past. What she hadn't been aware of was everything else.

He clearly noticed her eyes catch on the mark because he immediately changed position to cross his arms, unconsciously defensive. After their earlier repartee, she felt a certain desire to reassure him. Well, she felt a certain desire for a lot of things when it came to him, but for now she could at least safely indulge one of those: intellectual exploration.

"They _have_ wronged me, Lucius," she said. "They are entirely, completely, lacking in tales like the ones you told me today."

He smiled and entered the chaotic office, stepping carefully around the tottering stacks of books and manuscripts. She looked up at him as he neared her, trying to shut off the part of her brain that had something very unproductive to say about her being on her knees in front of him, and when he reached a large hand down to help her up, she quickly accepted. And found that her left leg had fallen asleep. She teetered and instinctively braced her hands on his chest for support, as he caught her by the arms. He smelled of something citrusy and warm and laughed when she said, a little breathlessly, "I'm sorry, my leg fell asleep."

"You can stay right here as long as it takes to wake up," he said, and she thought he also sounded a little breathless. There was something complicated in his eyes that nonetheless made her feel as though she was safe with him, which she never would have thought possible. His eyes were also very close. As were his lips.

She stepped away hurriedly, rubbing her hands together and walking over to her desk, putting space and a nice solid piece of furniture between them.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure?" she said, striving to make her tone professional. "I'd be happy to discuss anything further, but it might be best to schedule a time through my office — as you can see, I'm kind of in the midst." She gestured expressively at the mess.

"Yes, I shall owl your office to schedule a time," he said, tone brisk, stepping forward to place a parcel on her desk. "But I am rarely available during the day, so we shall have to go to dinner. I think we have much still to discuss. About the program, of course."

"Of course," she said, a little faintly. _Had he just asked her out to dinner? More specifically, had he just not actually asked her out to dinner but rather_ informed her_ that they would be going to dinner? _He was so...so...

He tapped the parcel on her desk with one hand. She noticed vaguely that he was only wearing a single signet ring today. Apparently the rings he'd been sporting at the ministry gala had been his special occasion look.

"Per our earlier conversation," he said, tapping the parcel again. "You may want to, ah, keep it off the floor." And then he just walked out.

In a bit of a daze, she began to unwrap the parcel, going carefully when she sensed that it was actually imbued with a number of protective spells. Within the wrapping she found a book, also spell protected. It was impossibly old, a handwritten illuminated manuscript. _The Magicke and Muggle Use of Plantes and Herbes in Treatmente of Ill Humour_, it said in a reedy voice.

"Well I'll be damned," she replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That particular myth about Artemis is fabricated, but cobbled together from some real ones about her hunting companions and blessings on motherhood.
> 
> Next: a tense dinner date, the soothing balm of a seaside town, and the suggestion of a "research trip." Purely for the program, of course.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will a rustic dinner in the Scottish Isles soften Hermione's suspicion? Or will it take some gentle coaxing from Lucius' sizable...book collection? And can I manage to write a believable reformed Lucius? Read on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note for readers new and old: this story is undergoing... renovations. It was my first (and last) time posting a story while it was a WIP -- caution to the wind! Who needs an outline! Well, turns out I did. At some point things went kind of off the rails and I'm keeping three chapters (subject to change) up so you can get a flavor of the story and see if these characters are for you while I iron out the bad kinks and add some good ones. Thanks for your patience during this mixed-results experiment and I hope the whole thing will be up in not too long, happy ending and all.
> 
> If you are here for the smut, I most certainly understand, and there is a future chapter of this story available as a standalone work right now, my story "Not Afraid."
> 
> \---
> 
> This is not the first time I have featured Tobermory in my stories, nor will it be the last. I just love it.
> 
> Turns out getting around the “used to be a Death Eater” thing is as tricky for the writer as it is for Hermione.
> 
> Thank you to my beta LB!

"I have to say, this is not what I was expecting," said Hermione, looking at the small scroll in her hand. She had just untied it from a cheerfully fluffy barred owl that had landed at the lunch table she was sharing with Ginny, in a small cafe a few blocks from the Ministry. She briefly wondered if the owl had been Lucius' own or a working owl from Malfoy Industries or the Foundation. A whimsical choice, if his own. An elegant script on the scroll read:

_7pm tonight_

_23 Main Street, Tobermory, Isle of Mull_

_Not fancy, dress warm_

"I have to say, this is not what I was expecting either," said Ginny, eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline as she inspected Hermione over a mug of coffee so huge she had to hold it in both hands to drink.

"Mmm?" said Hermione distractedly.

"If I heard you correctly, you told me that you can't come out with me after the match tonight because you already have dinner plans with Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh, yes," said Hermione, focusing on Ginny with an effort. "I'm sorry about that. Thanks for being game for lunch instead, I don't like going so long without catching up."

"Me too," said Ginny, carefully putting down her coffee tureen to reach across the table and squeeze her old friend's hand. "We've had so many away matches this season, I'm glad it's winding down. NOW you don't get to distract me that easily, back to the topic at hand. Since when has Lucius Malfoy been taking you out to fancy dinners?"

"Well that's just it," said Hermione, frowning down at the note. "I assumed we'd be going to, I don't know, somewhere unnecessarily posh, but..." She held the note out to Ginny.

"The Isle of Mull?" Ginny quickly conjured a map. "Wow, uh, that's up by Glasgow. That's going to be one, two...three apparition hops? For somewhere you need to dress warm?"

"Well I'm glad it's casual," Hermione said hurriedly, "because to answer your question it's just a business meeting. It came to my attention at the donor tea last week that Lucius has quite a bit of specialty knowledge on some of the more intersectional aspects of wizarding and muggle history, and I'm trying to see where it might fit in the program. Incidentally, did you get your annual report from Harry?"

"Mhm," said Ginny dismissively. "Very nicely done as usual. I also got from Harry that _Mr. Malfoy_'s 'specialty knowledge' includes hand-feeding you little desserts."

Hermione dropped her fork with a clatter, and then spent the next several seconds trying to clean up drops of spattered salad dressing. Ginny was unmoved.

"He was just looking out for me," she said cagily.

Ginny sighed. "Okay gut reaction here is to say something mean like 'that would have been more helpful when you were a prisoner in his house,' but..."

Hermione looked at her in surprise. She had expected Ginny of all people to object most heartily to this situation.

"Harry and Draco have become very good friends, you know, so we've actually had a few meals with Draco at Lucius' flat. Nice, modern, non-creepy, not a manor, London flat. Honestly, it's why I started working with a mind healer last year. I figured if someone can make headway with Lucius Malfoy I should be a piece of cake. Did you know both Malfoy men actually came to one of my matches?"

"Huh," was all Hermione could think of to say. Her mind was frantically trying to adjust the pieces of what she had thought was true to match what she was hearing.

"_But that is not to say_," and Ginny resumed her previous interrogatory tone, "that you shouldn't be asking what the hell is going on. Because I am asking that."

"Believe me, I am," said Hermione placatingly.

"And which you should also ask at dinner, in Scotland, which you accepted. Can we circle back really quick here to _why_ you accepted? And don't give me that tosh about the program, we both know if that was all you cared about you would have scheduled a _quick _meeting _during business hours _and had done with it."

"He's quite busy so he insisted on dinner," said Hermione ridiculously.

"That's ridiculous." Ginny's voice was flat.

Hermione gave in. She pushed her plate away and buried her face in her hands on the table.

"I knoooooooow," came her muffled voice. She lifted her head to look imploringly at her friend of more than a decade, face flaming and curls askew. "Gin, I know it doesn't make any sense in the world and Godric knows I don't want to be one of those 'oh but he's a changed man' women but...yes, against any sense, I think he is upsettingly attractive. And not just his," she gestured vaguely up and down in the air to signal a body, "but his _mind_. When we talk, something in me...wakes up."

"**AND**," Hermione added in verbal bold caps lock, as if this would settle the matter once and for all, "He gave me an extremely old and rather opinionated book." She folded her arms indignantly, strongly implying _so there_.

Ginny sighed and picked up her coffee tureen. "Well, in the spirit of bringing up everything a good friend should bring up, you’ve left out that he’s old enough to be your father."

"I suppose," Hermione said. 'Well, actually I think he had Draco when he was about 19 and my father was about 35 when I was born, but I take your point about the age difference. It seems a minor concern compared to former Death Eater somehow.” 

Ginny laughed. “Fair enough.”

Besides,” and Hermione looked at Ginny mischievously. “Are you really going to try and tell me that you don’t think he’s attractive?”

“No,” Ginny admitted. “He’s always been fit, and now he’s a bloody Adonis. How has he actually gotten _hotter_? An arse in many ways, one might say.”

Hermione threw a napkin at her.“Well if I ever go to his house, I’ll let you know if I find a painting that’s aging instead of him.”

Ginny looked at her blankly.

“The Picture of Dorian Grey?” Hermione prompted. Still nothing. “Muggle thing,” Hermione said. Ginny nodded unconcernedly.

***

Although she would have preferred a straightforward portkey, she appreciated that Lucius had clearly chosen their meeting place with ease of apparition in mind. Cafe Fish, the establishment Google had told her was at 23 Main Street in Tobermory, was adjacent to an apparition point at a small ferry terminal, which was actually only one stop from the Ministry outpost in Glasgow, available by floo from London. She also reflected that based on their past history, sending her a portkey and asking her to trust that it would take her to dinner would have been risky for everyone involved. Whatever was growing between them, it was a long way from trust.

She walked up the short jetty to a plain, two-story whitewashed building. A big bank of windows on the second floor were spilling light and laughter into the surreal gold of settling dusk in the north, and a modest white and blue sign proclaimed the name of the restaurant. It looked like the first floor of the building might even be part of the ferry terminal. Such a small town. And then she came around the corner and _saw_ the town. Old stone walls and colorful facades, white shutters and small chimneys, blues and reds and gables and light. Her heart squeezed with instant affection. The main street curved out along a rocky sea wall that flanked the small, busy harbor, and something smelled good, and she heard music from somewhere, and then she saw him. He was leaning on the railing, both elbows propped as he looked across the water, taking it all in. His hair was blowing back lightly, and he was wearing a long wool overcoat with the collar turned up at the chilly breeze, little hint of spring in the air in April out here off the west coast of Scotland. The distinctive light from the end of the day painted the strong, straight line of his nose, played across his cheekbones, and glimmered almost silver in his pale hair. And he had brought her to this place.

Her boots crunched lightly on the pavement as she approached him, hands tucked into the pockets of her pea coat for warmth, the ends of her wooly tartan scarf starting to wave around her face where it had become untucked. Her cheeks were pink with cold and she felt _alive. _There was no one to see Junior Minister Granger here. She was just Hermione, in boots and jeans, indulging her curiosity. Hearing her approach, Lucius turned, and the fierce look on his face melted into a smile. Soon she stood in front of him, breathing deeply in the good sea air. He reached out and carefully removed one of her hands from her pocket, then bent at the waist and kissed it. _Oh yes, _she thought, _I am very curious._

***

"First thing's first," she said, as he pulled out her chair for her in the small bistro. "And this is not a complaint, mind you, because this is the most perfect town in the world and something smells very good, but why did we come all the way out here for dinner?"

"It has very good fish," said Lucius mildly. "And no wizards."

Hermione looked around, startled. He knew she would have assumed he'd never frequent a muggle establishment. He also knew she would have expected him to choose the best restaurant money could buy, maybe even somewhere they could be seen. This humble bistro with its powder blue walls, fishing net decor, and chalkboard menu that was just six types of fish with sides represented a very real side of him but it was still a bit new, even to him. Tonight he was determined to show her that he was not the man she thought he was, or at least not _only _the man she thought he was. But first he needed to get over the shock of her actually showing up.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable somewhere like this," he said, knowing as soon as the words left his mouth that it had not been the right thing to say. Her eyes flashed and she shut her menu with a snap. Merlin, it had been five minutes and he'd already bolloxed it up.

"Because I don't have the breeding for fine dining establishments?" she whispered ferociously. "Because I could only be comfortable among my kind?"

"_Because _you spend all day dressed up and under scrutiny and in the city," he said, hands out in a placating gesture. "And you can't pretend you don't like it here because you already said it's the most perfect town in the world, so let's have a glass of wine and then you can decide if you'd rather be uncomfortable in London with several Michelin stars."

She glared at him in hostile silence, but she didn't leave. He tried to ignore the fact that the hostility made her eyes bright and her cheeks pink in a way that was reminiscent of arousal. Fortunately the waiter chose that moment to arrive, which meant that alcohol would soon follow. If they were going to get through this without one of them storming off, they needed to loosen up.

Her look became appraising, and apparently deciding on a detente, she reached into her small bag and pulled out the herbology book he had given her.

"Thank you for this," she said quietly. "It's magnificent."

"I'm glad it could get some appreciation," he said. "But are you done with it already? You're welcome to keep it as long as you like."

"Well," she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "I think it's done with me."

"Oh?" Lucius leaned forward interestedly, resting a hand on the package.

"Yes," she said. "In the beginning it just read itself aloud, but after awhile it, er, started to go off script. It seemed to take issue with being read so determinedly after so many years of being left alone."

Lucius laughed. "Oh well, you know these old charms, sometimes they get a bit shirty after awhile."

"They do?" said Hermione, and that was all he needed.

***

“Since we have not discussed the program at all since we arrived, would you agree that this is not in fact a business dinner?” Hermione was on her second glass of wine, and it was telling her to get down to it.

Lucius laughed, low and rich, and it reminded her of the sound from her dream. She wondered what the reality would be like in comparison, which was not helping her keep composure.

“No, Hermione,” he said. “This is a date.”

“Mm.” She pursed her lips. “But I didn’t agree to a date, I agreed to a business dinner. You’re the one who decided we should have it on a bloody Scottish isle.”

“Would you have accepted a clear expression of my intent?”

“What is your intent?”

“I don’t know yet.” He smirked in a way that suggested he at least had several ideas.

“Well then it wouldn’t have been very clear, would it.” Hermione's blood thrilled to the pace he set.

He huffed a laugh. “No, I suppose not. Well I am sure that my interest in you has little to do with business.”

“And I’m sure I would be interested in you if I didn’t think you’re almost certainly a complete bastard.”

She looked down at the glass in her hand, which she now realized was actually her third.

He blinked but didn’t look offended. He actually smiled a little slyly. “I expect you’ll find there are a lot of ways I am a complete bastard, but you may not dislike them as much as you expect to.”

There was an undercurrent there that made her skin prickle not unpleasantly. There was something very alluring about a man who liked to take the lead. But only if she liked where he was leading her. She liked the teasing side of him, she _really _did, but she couldn’t build on it. It was time.

“Lucius,” she said, gently. “As much as I’ve been enjoying your company as of late, in this case... well if there is going to be anything beyond this lovely meal other than a cordial professional relationship, I need to know what kind of person you are. I know who I think you are, and who I think you were. And I know who I’ve _heard_ you are, both then and now. But unless important parts of that are wrong and other important parts are right...”

He sat quietly, looking serious and a bit stormy. When he spoke, she could see he was considering his words carefully.

“Watching your rise through the Ministry has been most interesting, Hermione,” he said. “First, because it’s not at all how I would have done it. Sheer determination rather than careful manipulation. Second, because even ten years ago it would not have worked, maybe even despite your pre-existing notoriety. Things weren’t, ah, very progressive.”

She looked at him curiously but remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt.

“You are uncompromising in your values, and work tirelessly to make sure they are reflected in everything you do. Now I do not mean you are inflexible,” and here she thought a little abashedly of her house elf liberation attempts, “because you do adjust when you encounter other points of view, more so as you’ve become more experienced.”

“You’ve been paying more attention to my career than I realized,” she couldn’t restrain herself from saying.

“Well it quickly became apparent that you were the shape of things to come,” he said, “and that’s actually what I’m trying to get at. You decide your values based on a strong, Gryffindor moral compass of right and wrong. I, and Slytherins of my time, decided our values on what we observed being valued by others. I say deci_ded_ because I’d like to think after eight years of working with a mind healer I have more nuance. Well, at least I suppose I have the nuance to understand when and how that is in play for me. Which it often still is,” he said, almost warningly. She nodded. She believed people capable of change, but not of changing everything.

“You were eleven when you met the people who would become your constant companions. And only you know the deep ways they shaped your life. I met the people who would shape mine shortly after I was born. The Pureblood community was, and is, small and close knit. My marriage to Narcissa had been arranged since I was three. And we learned our values from what was valued in our community, which to be fair was also what was valued in the wizarding community. Power. Status. Tradition. Bloodline. It’s not a belief system, you see, there’s nothing there about right and wrong, just strategy. But lacking another belief system, you can see how this would become one. People feel, even in systems based on strategy.”

“You ask what kind of man I am. I am the kind of man who felt loyalty to my family and community. Others in our, ah, community felt that what brought us together was hatred of the other. This was not at the forefront for me. But the result was much the same. If your greatest value is loyalty, and I don’t mean to the Dark Lord, I mean to the people who have known you for every second of your life, walking away requires courage and a very strong moral compass.” He looked pointedly at her. “I don’t need to tell you I’m no Gryffindor. And I don’t need to tell you that’s not the choice I made.”

Silence rang at their table. Around them, there was some light bustle but it was quite late now and the restaurant was certainly on its final seating. The little candle on their table had burned low.

"I always thought that had to be part of it," Hermione said carefully. "It even shows up in Gryffindor, more than you'd think." Silence fell again as she was lost in thought about the work Ginny and Ron had had to do to even identify when they were overvaluing magical ability.

She looked up at the man across the table from her, beautiful and proud, this Pureblood scion dressed in a muggle sweater and jeans. Could a person change that much? She supposed it depended somewhat on where they started.

“What choices did you make?” Hermione asked quietly.

“You can ask me,” he said, putting a hand palm up on the table as if to take hers. She looked shocked. 

“I couldn’t,” she said. “It’s...it’s the height of rudeness to even ask.”

“You didn’t,” he said with a small smile. “I offered.”

“But still...”

“Hermione.” His tone was firm but not upset. “If I am going to pursue you, which I fully intend to, you have the right to know who I am. And I would actually very much like you to know who I am _not._ I think we can both agree that our unusual history might merit an unusual approach."

She reached out tentatively and put her hand in his, then reached down with her other hand to touch her wand where it was tucked in to her boot. She cast.

The faint white light of the truth spell glowed around their hands. Different from veritaserum, this would not work without the explicit consent of both participants, and would not compel him to share anything with her at all. It would only tell her if the things he did tell her were true.

"Did you ever kill anyone?" she asked.

"No," he replied. The light around their hands shifted to a steady, pale green.

"Did you ever torture anyone?" she asked, although she knew.

"Yes," he said. Green, and he shifted as if about to leave.

"Why?" she asked, keeping hold of his hand. He looked at with some confusion and she felt his fingers flex almost involuntarily around her hand.

"Because things would have gone far worse for either the recipient or someone I cared about if I refused. Only if there was truly no way out." Green. He looked hunted.

"Were you ever tortured?"

To this he said nothing, and the light stayed a neutral white, but the expression in his eyes became shuttered.

"You say you are not brave. But there is bravery in remaining strategic when your body and mind are the price."

"That wasn't a question," he said emotionlessly.

"If you could go back, would you have made different choices?"

"Yes. But not if Draco would be the price," he said, and the green was somehow defiant this time. His expression blazed fiercely with love and protectiveness, and Hermione made a decision.

"Do you intend to use your connection to me to rehabilitate your image?"

He looked at her consideringly. "You are more shrewd than you let on, Junior Minister Granger." She waited.

"No," he said. "I admit that there is a part of me that can't seem to stop chasing after influence whether I really even want it or not, but we both know that the family name is in much better hands with Draco. I have no real hope of rehabilitation in my old life; but I thought maybe a chance at a new one. Hence,” and he gestured at the idea of Scotland.

”I am attracted to your power,” he said a little ruefully, “but not for what it can do for me." Green the whole time. So at least it all felt true to him. There was a lot there she'd have to unpack later.

“So you’re attracted to my power...” she began.

“Well I’m only ever going to get so enlightened,” he said drily. “I come by it honestly, though. Malfoys have always been lurking around in wizarding government and industry.

Go back long enough and we even start showing up in the muggle circles of influence.”

“Oh really!” Hermione was instantly intrigued by this revelation and started to relax a little.

“Yes, I’ve become something of the family historian over the last several years,” he said, smiling at some secret thought.

“You’re trying to distract me.” Hermione was accusatory but there we no heat behind it. He smirked.

"One final question," she said, turning her hand in his so their fingers clasped together. His expression changed to astonishment at the sight. "What would you like for dessert?"

"Are we sharing?" he asked. His face and tone was unreadable.

"No," she said. "Nothing personal. I like dessert too much to share."

This pried a laugh out of him, and the tension started to fade though they continued to hold hands.

"I think I'll have the chocolate pot," he said. "It has a very nice local whisky in it. Did you know that the distillery here is a partnership venture between an old wizarding family and a local clan of mermaids?"

Their clasped hands started to glow red.

"Truly," he continued. "There is a type of seagrass that grows nearby that imparts an unusual saltiness to the spirits..."

The red glow continued as he wove his tall tale, and then faded slowly as the spell wore off. Fingers entwined, they ordered dessert.

***

“You said you chose this place because you thought I'd be more comfortable, but you seem more comfortable here too,” Hermione said reflectively, putting a final forkful of dessert waffle into her mouth.

"Well I should hope so, since I live here," he said.

Her fork drooped limply. "I thought you had a flat in London!"

"I do, and it's quite useful, but I'm here as often as I can be. I have a stone house up that hill," he gestured vaguely with his spoon, "that's a pain in my arse and one of the best decisions I ever made."

"So all this is..."

"As much me as I am when I'm intimidating people in the city."

She laughed, and wrinkled her nose. "I don't know how I feel about jeans-and-a-sweater Lucius. Comparing anything to a three piece suit seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?” 

“I can remove them if you prefer,” he said mildly. “Perhaps a no piece suit would compare more favorably.”

She laughed. “I’d dare you to take them off in here but I have this awful feeling you’d do it just to make a point.”

He nodded soberly. “I might. Hard to say.”

“Pride is the strangest thing,” she said, thoughtful. “On the one hand, you have this very high bar for how you want to be perceived. On the other hand, you’re willing to jeopardize that very perception to not lose face on some sort of invisible even higher level.”

“The inner complexities of the Slytherin mind,” he said. “The other part is evaluating what there is to be gained. In this case, I don’t think I’d take your dare.”

“No?"

“No,” he said, voice low. “I’m in the long game.”

“And what game is that?”

“I’m waiting until you take them off of me yourself.” It was by far the most brazen thing he had said since he had approached her at the ministry gala a few weeks ago, but he didn't think it was too far. She responded when he walked the edge a little bit, or they wouldn't have ended up here.

“You wish,” she said laughing, trying to sound dismissive.

“Clearly I very much do.” He wasn't going to let her diminish his intent now that he had expressed it.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself for a first date.”

“Perhaps. But you just called it a date, so that seems like a good sign for me.”

Hermione toasted him, and then raised partially out of her seat and leaned across the table towards him. For a wild moment, he thought she was about to kiss him, as she reached forward...and took hold of his dessert plate and pulled it towards herself. He gaped at her.

“You can have more dessert on our second date,” she said cheekily, and then licked chocolate off the spoon in a way that made him think her own long game was to be the death of him. Well. It still might be. But his odds felt much improved.

***

_This escalated quickly,_ Hermione thought from where she lay sprawled in ecstasy on the plush carpet of Lucius’ small study. Maybe not, though. They were on their third date-like-thing, after all. Why shouldn’t she be in his house, in Scotland, experiencing the great pleasure of being completely surrounded by original manuscripts? Her operation was spread out but well organized by topic and time period. She couldn't believe the extent of his private collection — well, his family's collection, built over centuries. And this was just a subset, since many were on loan to various wizarding libraries and museums. As Lucius quietly worked on correspondence at a large desk by the window, Hermione got to know her new companions. Was that a...

***

“Lucius!” she gasped his name, a breathy exclamation, and he accidentally crossed out several words with his quill. 

“You didn’t tell me you have a first edition _Fiends and Foes_, oh my word, it’s _gorgeous_!”

Outwardly composed, he continued writing. “I think we’re going to have to set some rules about how you say my name if you are not intending to come over here and say it from my lap.”

“Lucius...” she practically purred and he closed his eyes, praying for strength to anyone who would hear him. “Do you have more of these?”

He sighed in a dramatically world-weary way. “I suppose it’s predictable somehow that when I finally find a woman who’s insatiable it’s for my book collection.”

He summoned several more small cases and presented them to her, feeling something much more complex and much more dangerous than desire at the look of happy intensity on her face as she perused her new acquisitions. He sat down carefully next to her and tipped her face towards his with gentle fingers under her chin. Her eyes focused on him and she smiled a little bashfully.

“I get a little caught up sometimes,” she said, clearly concerned with having ignored him almost entirely for nearly four hours.

“I know,” he said, “and it’s magnificent.” He pressed his lips to her cheek, softly but very intentionally, and heard her breath catch. He pulled away slightly, giving her the option for more if she wanted to take it. Her eyes flickered to his lips, but she didn’t move forward, so he drew back gently.

“I have no intention of interrupting, but only wanted to bring up two pertinent things. First. It’s quite late, so I’m going to retire; I have a comfortable guest bedroom down the hall to the left that you are welcome to use when your brain finally runs dry in a few days. There are pajamas and a towel on the back of the sofa. Second. If you really want the answers to your questions about wizard and muggle history, I don’t have the materials here that you need. I think we might consider taking a research trip to the archives in Oxford if you can spare the time away.”

“We?”

“Well yes, it’s a very interesting topic and I’m very intelligent, it’s possible you’ll find me useful.”

She leaned forward and with the faintest, most delicate, most devastating brush of contact, her lips pressed against his. It was fleeting; she drew back quickly, but they were both flooded anyway. 

“Let’s go to Oxford,” she said.

***

It was only another hour or so before she had to concede that it would behoove her to sleep and continue fresh. She had ceased doing any real work the moment her lips had met his. The last hour of wakefulness had mostly been a war with herself about whether she was going to follow him down the hall and really start something. She wanted to. Oh, she _wanted._ But there was still such a big part of her that felt like the whole situation strained credulity to the breaking point. Still, whatever was growing between them was stronger with each minute they spent together. Maybe it was even starting to include trust. He was the last person she would have guessed would understand or accept her, and yet it seemed to come as naturally to this wiser, wearier version of him as breathing. Or brooding. Or making her laugh. Oh, she was in trouble. She was sure it would all come to a head if they went to Oxford together; they were already very near a boiling point. She shivered a little and realized it was in anticipation. Maybe he was the one in trouble.

She’d owl the office to tell them she was pursuing a special project and would be gone for the next...week? Two weeks? She honestly didn’t know. Summer was a bit less frantic at the Ministry so she thought it should be alright to push all her meetings back. It was a bit out of the mold for the Junior Minister to take such a direct role in something like this, but if it came down to it she could even use her vacation days. It’s not like she didn’t have enough just begging to be used.

These were the thoughts that whirled through her head as she washed her face in the powder room and put on the hilariously oversized pajamas Lucius had put out for her. She wandered down the hall, old wood floors creaking a little underfoot, and through a door on the right that was slightly ajar. The light was very dim but she didn’t need any to find the bed, shove herself into it, and fall instantly asleep.

It wasn’t until the morning, when she woke to find herself looking into the depths of stormy gray eyes, that she remembered the guest bedroom was the one on the left.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Lucius said quietly. 

“Yes please,” she whispered.

“Alright well unless you’re ready for breakfast and a sizable show, you should shut those baby browns because I sleep in the nude.”

“You _had_ to throw in sizable,” she said, grinning in spite of the awkwardness.

“Can’t have you wondering if it would be worth wandering in here another time,” he said.

“I’m quite sure it will,” she said. He looked sharply at her and she looked back innocently and then shut her eyes. She felt his weight shift out of the bed and then peeked through one barely open eye as she heard his bare feet pad across the floor. He had a swagger in his step that made his well-muscled ass flex enticingly, and when he reached the bathroom door he stretched with his back to her in a stunning display of flesh clearly meant for her benefit if she was doing exactly what she was and peeking. The ego on him, honestly. If his endowment was half the size of it... and then he turned as he closed the door and she saw exactly what she was up against. _Well. It looked like she was the one in trouble after all._

***

They ate very good eggs and toast with tart jam and drank strong coffee in companionable silence in the sunny kitchen nook. He read the paper and she read a book. Breakfast had already been ready when she’d come down; she wasn’t sure if he had cooked it himself and was afraid to ask in case it had been a house elf. Yet another conversation for another day. 

She looked over at him and saw the smallest smile lifting the corner of his mouth. It somehow managed to be insufferably smug. He knew she’d watched his not so little morning display.

Looking back down at her book, she said casually, “So where’s your picture, Dorian Grey?”

“In the attic,” he said unconcernedly, turning the page of the paper. 

She smiled into her coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: book lists, Oxford cafes, unexpected revelations, and a boiling point...


End file.
